


Chignon

by TheMissingMask



Series: Explorations [3]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, Hair Braiding, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 06:43:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6894280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMissingMask/pseuds/TheMissingMask
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flint styles Silver's hair</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chignon

The forest was alive with the sounds of night. Crickets chirping incessantly in the bushes, small animals scrambling rampantly through the leaves, and Jack Rackham offering a heated display of his extensive vocabulary as he orated to his new recruits somewhere back towards the camp. Flint and Silver had already addressed their recruits, weaving a compelling tale in order to win the men’s unwavering loyalty towards their new quartermaster and fear towards their new captain. A necessary combination if they were to win this war.

But now, work done for the day, the two had retired to Flint’s tent where they sat in companionable silence. Flint was seated on the low bed that had been set up for him. On the floor before him was John Silver, left leg stretched out to offer him a better angle from which to glare at the attached prosthetic.

It ached. It always ached. It frequently sent burning pangs of agony through his stump and into his hip. But he refused to take it off. Silver knew he ought remove it every day, wash the wound and rest the leg. Indeed, Howell took every opportunity to remind him of this fact. But, whenever his logical mind ordered him to shed the appendage, every other part of his brain screamed to remind him that doing so would mean having to put the damned thing back on again. And that was the part that hurt the most.

So, Silver kept the prosthetic firmly buckled to his leg day after day, until eventually Flint would look at him in such a way that guilt overwhelmed the fear of future pain, and he allowed his lover to gently extract the stump from its leather confines.

His mind returned to the man seated behind him. A man feared by so many, seen as a tyrant and monster by pirates and civil men alike. A man to whom he had pledged his loyalty and his heart. A man who was currently -

“What the fuck?!” Silver reached back to touch his hair where Flint had been absentmindedly toying with the curls. “How the fuck does the most notorious pirate captain in the New World learn to do a plaited chignon?”

Flint slowly returned from whatever reverie he had entered and laughed at the shocked expression on Silver’s face. Still smiling, he looked towards the far side of his tent with glassy eyes, as he was want to do during recollections of the happier moments of his past.

“When I was a boy, before my father died, I would spend some afternoons in his shop. There were two sisters who would come by on occasion with their father. While we waited for our parents to complete their business, the elder of the two - Beatrice - would teach me how to do her sister’s hair. A new style for every visit.”

He was now adding the finishing touches to his work. Feathers he had collected from a prize being artfully positioned here and there among the swirls of black.

“Their father was very fond of ornate chairs, and so we got through quite a number of these lessons.” He smiled and placed the final feather, a small white fluffy thing, into the centre of the knot.

“After my father died and I went to live with my grandfather, I never saw nor heard from them again. Not surprising really. We were just companions for a time, out of necessity. Nothing more.”

Silver reached his hand back to touch the hair, but Flint grabbed his wrist before he could make contact. “Don’t touch. You’ll mess it up.” He used the grip to spin Silver round to face him and planted a soft kiss on his lips, which Silver eagerly returned despite the awkward angle.

Flint raised an eyebrow, smirk still firmly planted on his lips.

“Now, are you going to tell me how the fuck a street urchin even knows what a chignon is?”

Silver just offered a feral smile and pushed Flint back onto the bed. Needless to say, the chignon didn’t last long.

**Author's Note:**

> Guess where the white feather came from? ;)
> 
> Apparently, according to google, a chignon is actually a thing...but it didn't seem complicated enough for Flint's dexterous hands, so I decided he did a braided version...I don't know if that works, but if anyone wants to try it and find out, hit me up on Tumblr! Or just hit me up if you want to talk SilverFlint drabbles. :D
> 
> http://diddles5150.tumblr.com


End file.
